


a fancy word for together

by dhils



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, all abt bonding!, basically a 5+1 i guess, but the friendly kind, this is a family show
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 06:24:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17156891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dhils/pseuds/dhils
Summary: “So, yeah, I slept with Jimmy last night,” Brady’s saying to Haysie. “I’d say it was a bonding experience.”





	a fancy word for together

**Author's Note:**

> merry christmas!! happy december!!
> 
> this really isnt related to christmas but......o well. this whole thing was inspired by some dumbass gif i can't find rn but if u know.....uknow.....:)
> 
> anyways!! happy holidays, stay warm!! <3

Jimmy’s head is always spinning when he steps into the locker room after a game, when the high of adrenaline clashes with finally getting off the ice. It’s a lot to handle, especially if it’s right after a winning night, which this is, so Jimmy gets to experience all of that at once. Considering how all he wants to do right now is sit down and _maybe_ fall asleep. All of that depends on whether or not he’s got someone yelling in his face about the game.

So, he settles down and works on untying his skates, pulling them off one by one, and it’s all muscle memory. Jimmy doesn’t need his head to be working straight to strip down to his UnderArmour, and even then he lets himself drift off to the chatter around the locker room. It comes in waves, bubbling up in patches of the room, but it’s not too loud. Even after a victorious run at a game, everyone’s a little calmer tonight. 

And then—“So, yeah, I slept with Jimmy last night,” Brady’s saying to Haysie, and Jimmy looks up. Brady’s leaning against Haysie’s stall, arms crossed over his chest like he’s talking about some girl he picked up. He’s got this smug look on his face, and Haysie raises his brows at him. They’re practically brushing his hairline.

Haysie says something back to him that Jimmy can’t catch for the life of him, mostly because that’s the exact moment someone gets towel whipped, and sometimes Jimmy finds it hard to believe he’s on a team with grown ass men. 

“No, yeah, I’d say it was a bonding experience,” Brady says to Haysie as Jimmy walks up behind him, and he doesn’t even regret the way he jerks Brady’s shoulder back even when he winces. 

“What the fuck,” he snaps, and Brady looks far too amused for his own good. 

“What,” Brady replies evenly. “Jimmathon, the adults are speaking.” He looks over his shoulder and gives Haysie a look like _can you believe this guy_ and Jimmy can feel the tips of his ears burn up.

“What did you just call me?” He sputters, and ends up ditching that for: “You wanna tell me who exactly _slept_ with you?”

“Are you embarrassed? You’ve got nothing to worry about.” Brady goes on to boop his nose like it’s a normal thing bros do. But, then again, sleeping together isn’t really a bros kind of thing either. 

Sleeping together—not in _that_ sense. No sex.

“Course, nothing to worry about. Just a little brotherly love,” Haysie chimes in incredibly unhelpfully, and he looks like he’s trying his hardest not to grin. Fuck this locker room, fuck this _team_ , actually.

“I’m going to the KHL,” Jimmy announces, loud enough for at least some of the guys nearby to hear. “And you,” he points to Brady, who mouths _me?_ a little cluelessly. “Gotta learn—words. Don’t tell people I _slept_ with you, you fuck.”

“Stick and stones may break my bones,” Brady tells him dutifully.

“But you’re still the worst,” Jimmy says, and heads back towards his stall with the sound of laughter ringing behind him. 

 

 

“I feel like we haven’t had a healthy meal together in forever,” Brady says, shoving a french fry in his mouth. “Like, how are we supposed to bond if we don’t suffer over spinach together.” 

“I don’t wanna bond with you,” Jimmy tells him almost immediately, it’s practically instinctual.

“Seriously, how are you ever going to be a god-tier goal scorer if you don’t eat your greens.” Brady reaches for a bland brown napkin. Jimmy’s gotten all too used to having a stack of those at the middle of their dining table at all times. It’s a great centrepiece. “How are you gonna _get_ the green, if you don’t _eat_ the green.”

“Please don’t say that to me ever again,” Jimmy says, and drums his fingers against his empty burger container. “Also, my burger had lettuce in it. And that’s what’s up.”

“Do you smell that?” Brady says. “I think it might be heart disease.”

“I thought that was you trying to bake again,” Jimmy replies, and cranes his neck to look over at their kitchen. It’s probably worth mentioning the last time Brady put anything in the oven, it had to be tossed under a running tap. So there’s that.

“I miss when you weren’t so mean all the time.”

“I was never not mean,” Jimmy says, and Brady makes a small noise of agreement. “And you take kindness for granted. It’s a grind, you don’t deserve it.” 

Brady tosses his napkin at Jimmy and it gets him right in the eye.

“If we lose our next game I’m telling Coach you blinded me,” he says, straight-faced. 

“When you fall face first on the ice and get a concussion, you won’t hear me cheering from the bench, but I will be,” Brady answers, his expression equally put together. 

Jimmy holds his gaze for a minute, and it doesn’t last long before he starts sniggering. “You’re gonna be the one making me tomato soup in bed, so cheer all you want because _I’ll_ be getting the last laugh.”

“Jokes on you because making soup for you when you’re sick is a fucking honour.” Brady blinks rapidly when Jimmy sends the napkin back in his direction, and it doesn’t hit his eye but he flinches anyways. “Gross.”

“It’s _your_ napkin.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t want _your_ cooties,” Brady says, sounding disappointed. “This wasn’t consensual.” 

“What do you want me to do about it.” Jimmy stuffs their empty containers in the paper bag that came with their food, hopping off the chair to seek out the trash can.

“I want. Ice cream,” Brady says thoughtfully. His bottom lip slips into a pout when Jimmy rolls his eyes.

“Are you a child?”

“Ice cream is good for all ages.” He follows after Jimmy, leaning against their kitchen counter while Jimmy trashes the bag. 

“Not for grown hockey players trying to _eat their greens_ ,” Jimmy counters easily, and looks up to see Brady frowning. 

He doesn’t answer back, just keeps that sorrowful look on his face and _fuck it_.

“Fine,” Jimmy says, huffing, as if the thought of splurging on some ice cream causes him pain. If anything, it’s the smile Brady makes afterwards that really makes it worth it. 

 

 

“Few more,” Brady says, and he’s standing over Jimmy at the bench press in the weight room. They’ll always be the ones spotting each other, mostly because Jimmy trusts Brady a whole lot more than he trusts—Haysie, per say.

And the last time Haysie spotted him, he was calling Jimmy a _Harvard softie_ , which. Okay, he totally gets where he’s coming from but that’s absolutely the worst time to have _that_ conversation with him.

Jimmy huffs out a breath in response, and Brady nods his head at him like he completely understands what Jimmy’s communicating. 

“You’re right, working out _is_ ass,” he says, and that’s really not what Jimmy was going for but amen to that, too. 

“My arms are gonna fall off,” he says between reps, and the corner of Brady’s mouth curls up. 

“Finish this first, lose your limbs later.” 

“That’s such a bad policy.” Jimmy’s voice sounds a little strained, and Brady probably recognizes it because his mouth snaps shut and he lets Jimmy finish off the rest of his reps.

Once Jimmy’s done, his arms are quivering just a little, and Brady puts the slightest bit of upwards pressure on the bar, guiding Jimmy’s arms back and racking it. 

He taps the hand Jimmy’s still got on the bar, and takes a step to the side. “My boy’s built,” Brady says, poking Jimmy in the bicep. 

“Still not a goon,” he jokes, grinning. “Definitely getting there, though.”

“For sure, I don’t even _know_ how you haven’t been brought into the Olympics for weight lifting yet.” He wets a paper towel with some disinfectant and hands it to Jimmy once he gets off the bench.

Jimmy wipes down the area, looking over his shoulder to pass Brady a glance. “They’re jealous, obviously.” 

“What else,” Brady says. “How could I have been so blind.” 

Jimmy throws the bunched up paper towel towards a nearby bin, and he tries not to let the pride show on his face when it bounces off the edge and in. “Don’t forget basketball,” Jimmy says. 

Brady looks him over critically. “Dare I say, a triple threat?”

Jimmy chuckles. “I try.”

“Aw,” Brady coos, grinning wide at him. “Look at you not being a complete asshole to me.”

Jimmy rolls his eyes. “I’m not an asshole. We _always_ get along.” 

“Uhuh,” Brady says. And he pauses, his grin faltering at the corners. “So, you could say we’re bonding?” 

Jimmy opens his mouth to protest, and shuts it again, unable to find the words. He scoffs, and steps behind the bench, bullying Brady out of his spot. “Absolutely not,” he says, but it’s weak. “Your turn, fucker.” 

 

 

“I’m gonna take you on a fucking trip,” Brady says, basically hanging half off the couch. He’s clutching an empty bottle in his hands, and the label is peeling but Jimmy can clearly see Brady got into the really bad beer again. The downright nasty fortified piss stuff. 

Jimmy sighs and kicks the front door shut behind him. “What’re you doing, Bray?” He says, and it comes out sounding a lot more disappointed than he’d meant it to. Like a mother walking in on her kid scribbling on the walls. 

“Just _hanging_ around,” he says, and bursts into giggles.

“I wonder if anyone else’ll let me move in with them,” Jimmy contemplates, his voice loud enough that it reaches Brady’s ears.

“You’d just leave your best buddy like that?” Brady asks, flipping back onto the couch and sitting up somewhat normally.

Jimmy lets his grocery bag thump against the kitchen counter. “Without a doubt” he says, and reaches for the apples rolling out of the bag to drop them in their fruit basket. This is the first time he’s gone grocery shopping in a month maybe, and it feels good to have food that isn’t rotting in their apartment. He considers texting his mom about it.

“Fine, fuck you, too,” Brady says, and turns his head, looking out the window opposite to the kitchen. That so-called cold shoulder only lasts a few seconds, while Jimmy’s putting the milk in the fridge, and then Brady’s right back on his bullshit. “Anyways, like I was saying, I’m gonna take your ass on a trip.

“Yeah? Are you?”

“Yeah, and it’s gonna be iconic,” Brady says, and he’d sound determined if all his words weren’t lazily slurring together.

“Lightweight.”

“This is my third!” Brady insists.

“I don’t doubt that for a second.” 

“You’re so lucky I have a high dumbass tolerance,” Brady says, like he isn’t the one buzzed in the middle of the day. 

“You’d need one to live with yourself.” Jimmy scrunches up the grocery bag and doesn’t bother dealing with it, abandoning the kitchen to settle down on the couch next to Brady. He immediately reaches for the TV remote, clicking on the power.

“I’m gonna spoil you,” Brady tells him, and Jimmy scoffs. “Like, it’s gonna be an all out cruise kind of trip.” 

“You’re fucking delirious.” Jimmy surfs through two or three channels before he lands on something that looks at least mildly interesting. There’s a laugh track in the back but it’s—something. And then, “Anything else?” He asks.

Brady purses his lips like he’s really thinking hard about it. Jimmy lets it go on for as long as it does, getting lost in the show running on their TV.

Eventually, “We get to bond,” he says, and starts grinning at him like he’s made some remarkable wisecrack. It’s gotten to the point where _bonding_ is an inside joke between them, and Jimmy really wouldn’t care if Brady didn’t bring it up every five seconds.

“Seriously.”

“You tell me,” Brady says, and Jimmy sighs.

“C’mon, you’re a mess, shut up and watch,” he says.

Brady ends up migrating to lean against his shoulder, and Jimmy really doesn’t mind the hand Brady sets on his. He doesn’t do anything about it, but it’s there and it’s warm and _fuck Jimmy_ because he can’t keep his attention off it.

 

 

Jimmy’s stirring his coffee when Brady walks into the kitchen, looking absolutely exhausted. He goes straight to the cupboard, acknowledging Jimmy with this half-wave before blindly groping for a mug. His eyes are mostly shut, and Jimmy thinks it’s miraculous that he doesn’t spill his coffee while he’s pouring it out, although it comes pretty close. 

Brady really brings new meaning to the idea of topping off a mug, filling it straight to the brink. And he drinks it black, too, which—that never happens. 

“What the fuck happened to you,” Jimmy finally says, and Brady’s still looking just about dead, but his eyes flick over to Jimmy while he’s hidden behind his mug.

“Got, like, three minutes of sleep,” Brady explains, his voice rough. He sets his mug down, sparing Jimmy another look. “When’s skate?”

“We got an hour. You gonna get your shit together by then?” Jimmy asks, and Brady looks absolutely _attacked_ at the idea of actually needing to get his things in check before leaving the house. 

“Fuck this, I deserve to sleep,” he complains bitterly. “I knew I should’ve just been a trophy husband.“ 

Jimmy could say _you gotta be hot to be a trophy husband_ or tell him _but this is a team bonding experience_ , but he does neither of those. Brady already looks miserable enough, there’s no point in pouring salt on the wound. So, “want an apple?” He asks, gesturing to their freshly filled fruit basket, courtesy of Jimmy’s homemaking ass. 

Brady blinks at him and Jimmy swears he can see the softest lick of a smile touch his lips. It never surfaces, nothing more than the way his eyes brighten just slightly. But it’s enough. 

“I’m good,” Brady says simply, and practically swigs his coffee.

(It’s actually Brady that ends up calling the skate a bonding experience, after Jimmy swears he’s going to fight the first person that looks at him. And, well, that was expected at least.)

 

 

It’s later in the evening when Brady throws him the _bonding experience_ bone this time and Jimmy’s done with it. He’s sprawled out on the couch with Brady and he says something about the characters in the show they’re watching _wishing_ they could bond like them, and Jimmy really isn’t even in the state of mind to protest it, so.

“Yeah, Bray,” he says, glancing over at him from his spot on the couch. “They wish.” 

And Brady sort of just blinks at him like he’s said the most unfathomable shit imaginable, which is kind of the case. Brady’s a dumbass and Jimmy doesn’t usually give in, but there’s a first time for everything, really. Even that. 

“Wow. I mean, if you _wanted_ to get in my pants you really only had to ask,” Brady says, and he puts his hands behind his head, leaning a little further back against the couch. Jimmy hopes he’s imagining the way his legs fall just slightly more open. 

He feels his mouth go dry, and he _really_ tries not to stare, but. “I could never love a goblin like you,” Jimmy says, and looks back over at the TV. 

Brady’s gaze is still all but glued to him, and Jimmy has a hard time clearing his mind of it, especially after Brady shifts a little closer, pressing greedily into his side. “High standards?” 

“Must be this tall to ride,” Jimmy says, holding his hand above Brady’s head, and he‘s really ignoring the fact that they’re just about the same height, but it’s fine apparently.

Because Brady decides to let something _else_ catch his attention. “To ride?” He asks, eyebrows raised. 

Jimmy ignores the way that makes his face burn, warmth setting his cheeks aflame. “Shut up.”

“Not even gonna give me a taste?” Brady pulls back to look at him, a soft curve in his lips and the expression on his face is unreadable. They’re always teetering on The Line, but Jimmy isn’t sure if now is the time that Brady’s actually being serious. And Jimmy can’t register much more than the sound of his heart thrumming in his ears, loud and incessant. 

He means for it to come out as a joke but, “you’re really set on this, huh?” He asks, and it’s unmistakably flirty, enough that even if this was one big joke Brady would back off. 

But.

“Yeah,” Brady says, a little breathless. He’s closer now. “Ball’s in your court, Ves.”

And it’s the way he says _Ves_ that makes Jimmy’s pulse spike, quickening, quickening, quickening, and he wants this so fucking bad. It’s hard enough to tolerate being around Brady’s soft looks and his sweet smiles, but now there’s this. 

There’s no way Jimmy’s reading this wrong.

There’s no way that, when he leans in, he’s making the wrong move. 

Really, it still catches him off guard when Brady tilts forward just slightly to meet him there, nice and slow like he’s trying to ease Jimmy into it. It's only a kiss, but it feels so careful, like it's so much more.

Jimmy spends so much time figuring this out, telling himself that it’s really happening, that when Brady’s pulling back he’s hypersensitive to the way his mouth feels almost tender. He can’t help but flick his tongue out to wet his lips, and Brady’s eyes follow the motion like a hawk. Jimmy doesn’t even know what to say, so caught up in the realization that this isn’t a dream, that this really happened. They _kissed_. 

“You think so fucking loud,” Brady says, and he reaches out to cup the side of Jimmy’s face, pressing a kiss to his temple. Brady’s hand is gentle where it’s cradling his jaw, fingers feather light over a patch of peach fuzz that won’t quite grow out. 

“I just. I didn’t know you’d be into that,” Jimmy says, his voice comes out light.

“I mean, were you?”

“Yeah, I—yeah." Jimmy looks down at his hands, tangled up in his lap. 

Brady lets out this soft laugh and it’s sugar sweet, Jimmy can feel it on his lips. “You’re an idiot,” he says.

“ _Hey._ ”

Brady puts his hand on top of Jimmy’s now. This all feels so familiar, enough that this time Jimmy flips his palm up, taking Brady’s hand so they’re connected. “But it’s cute.” 

Jimmy scoffs. “Okay, sure, friend of the year,” he says. 

“ _Friend_ ,” Brady parrots, and Jimmy can’t swallow down the laugh that makes it past his throat. “We should probably try something else.”

“Probably,” Jimmy says, and he dips in to kiss Brady’s smile.


End file.
